We arrived in Newcastle, in the northeast of England, on Monday morning and disembarked from our ship, The Queen of Scandinavia. What we didn’t know was that we were not actually in Newcastle and had to catch one of the DFDS Seaways buses to the city. Having waited until the majority of people left the boat to get off because our backpacks were so heavy to carry as we just stood around in line, we missed the bus. Not knowing there was such a thing as this bus, we had not realized how waiting our turn would mean a costly cab ride. Ah, and then there’s the fact that we had acquired no English money yet and the bureau de change was closed in the boat terminal! So we walked with our heavy packs to a mall down the road and got some cash. Then we stopped in at a hotel and asked the receptionist to call us a cab. Turns out we had a very interesting taxi ride into the city with an entertaining cabbie who pointed out all the best drinking spots in the neighborhood on the way to the train station. Great guy, very friendly. Even gave us a break on the cost of the trip.

Discovered that trains do not run as often out of Newcastle as the internet had indicated, but only had to wait an hour and a half. Ah, well. Ate a picnic lunch of some leftover bread and cheese and apples from Norway and bought some nice little chocabits, our word for anything sweet, in this case freshly baked cookies. Took the train to York and transfered to a train to Hull. Only one minute to spare but the train was waiting for our delayed train from Newcastle, and it was literally sitting right beside our train when it arrived. Nice!

Once in Hull I was quite struck with the similarities with my own city of Lowell, Massachusetts. Both cities have a reputation as a bit on the rough side, a lot of immigrants and poverty, industrial, but rich history. I found Hull to be an interesting city with quite a lot to offer. Would have been able to fill our time if we had been able to stay longer, but this was a short visit.

The exciting part: Met an old fisherman, Bill (according to his tattoo), who talked with me a good quarter of an hour about tides and fishing and boats and all that. Pointed out a fantastic statue on another pier that I made sure to see the next morning. Amazing guy — real salt of the earth. Only understood every fifth word, though! Harder to understand the peopl in these parts of England than in Scandinavia! He said if we were “loaded with cash” we could go to the Minerva Pub right at the end of the street at the water’s edge. I had read of this place since it is almost 200 years old and would surely have been seen by my ancestors.

We weren’t rolling in dough, but I did want to go to the place. Turns out it was quite reasonable. We had a lengthy talk with the cook who kept getting in trouble because he was talking to us iunstead of cooking. Told us about how the place is haunted. Showed us all the spots where supernatural things have happened. Sadly, the pub is set to be closed in the fall. I can hardly believe it, but they can’t break even, let alone make a profit. We ordered the only thing on the menu that the chef said he cooks fresh: fish and chips. My, oh, my! Fresh indeed. Lovely. Had a half pint of cider to wash it down, too. Got the tour of the place and took a thousand pictures of all the photos and drawings on the walls. That place is a museum!

Unfortunately, we also found out that our hotel was in a bad part of town. We had already checked in and noticed some of the telltale signs on our walk downtown, but we figured we’d just take a cab home instead of walking it at night. It wasn’t that bad! But the folks at the Minerva were so shocked. To me, though, I thought, “I’ve seen much worse.” Turns out our B & B is a sort of rooming house for working class folks and a place where people can get breakfast. Good, solid citizens, just trying to make a living. I was glad we did not get scared away by the reaction of the pub staff. This, too, is Hull.

Well, anyway, before we left in the morning, I ran down to the statue that Bill the fisherman mentioned and was glad to have done it. There were several plaques with immigrant information and the statue was wonderful — looked like my Swedish ancestors, a family of four with children just the right ages. Ran, literally, back to the station to catch the train to Liverpool, via Manchester.

What we didn’t realize was that we had booked seats with built in entertainment: Wendy and Carol, two Hull women going on a shopping extravaganza in Leeds, cracked us up with their recounting of various shenanigans and their boisterous stories. When they departed, they left a gap we could feel. We had a quiet journey the rest of the way.

Once in Liverpool we were surprised once again by the kindness of strangers. A man approached us just outside the train station and excused himself and said, “I couldn’t help but overhear that you are going to the International Hostel. I work near there but it’s a bit tricky to find. If you’d like, I can show you the way?” We gladly accepted, though we both eyed the stranger with a little suspicion. When he asked if he could help carry our bags, we both declined and kept feeling wary. But it soon became clear as we walked through crowded streets where each block the road changed names that this bloke was truly just doing us a good turn. Along the way, he told us all about where we should go when we were in the city. Lovely! Our own personal tour guide.

By the late afternoon when we had checked into our room, there was little time to do any research, so we visited the Tate Liverpool, a fantastic modern art museum. Had a delicious meal at an Indian restaurant (always have had super good Indian food when I’ve visited the UK). This morning I spent a few hours at the archives at the Maritime Museum and discovered that the dates I had for my ancestors’ departure from the UK were wrong. In fact, they spent only about 24 hours in the country! Also, I learned that they stopped in Queenstown, Ireland, ony the way to New York. Who knew? Glad I spent the time tracking down those last details. At least for the Norwegians. The Swedes’ journey beyond Hull remains a mystery for now, but I have a better idea of how to pick up their trail later.

Having completed that research, we hopped on the famous Mersey Ferry and then high-tailed it to the Adelphi Hotel for afternoon tea, having been told that they serve until 4 o’clock. NOT true. And the odd thing was that the people there had absolutely no idea of an alternative place. Starbucks said one. McDonalds or KFC said another. As if!! So we began to walk back to our hotel area, hoping to find something. Now almost four and absolutely starving, having skipped lunch, we were getting desperate and cranky.

Stopped to take a photo of a strange sign across the street and when I turned around a sign behind me caught my eye: “Afternoon Tea.” Bingo! Ah, but that place is too above and beyond expectations to include at the end of this very long post. I am going to post a proper review once I return home so I can give it it’s proper due! Needless to say, we stuffed ourselves, walked around a bit, packed back at our hotel, and then stuffed ourselves again at a dinner place that the tea guy recommended. What a perfect end to an incredibly fruitful and fun adventure.

Tomorrow we’re for home. I’m ready to return to my life at home and my family. Also, a bit of sadness for the end of such an incredible journey. At dinner tonight we drank a toast, to the immigrants, for their courage and for giving us such a lovely excuse to take this journey, two friends exploring together the past and the present.